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 \ 
 
 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY.
 
 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY '^ 
 
 OF PROCEEDINGS AT 
 
 Z^% fj^oui^e of aU 
 
 FOR 
 EDITED 
 
 By Mr. BREAKWINDOW. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED, 
 
 ^rtjeral of 
 Mr. B.'s minor PIECES. 
 
 LONDq^N: 
 
 PRINTED FOR W. SIMPRIN AND R. MARSHALL, 
 STATIONERS' COURT, LUDGATE HILL.
 
 Printed by J. Brettell, 
 Rupert Street, Haymarket, Londotit
 
 H- i L t 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The Editor of the following Papers feels it a 
 duty he owes the public to give them some 
 account of the Society held at the House of 
 Call for Genius, prior to his presenting them 
 with Mr. Randall's curious and highly interest- 
 ing Diary : he therefore relates, for their edifi- 
 cation, the following " unvarnished Tale:" 
 
 London, which is the great emporium of 
 first-rate, second-rate, and talent of every rate, 
 has for a few years past been literally inundated 
 with Geniuses of every description, who, from 
 the circumstance of not having any settled 
 place of resort, have been obliged to wander, 
 maunder and cross each other in every direction; 
 
 R1 il^fZ^l
 
 which, added to the usual number of crosses 
 that Geniuses meet with in general in every 
 direction, rendered their state truly pitiable. 
 Mr. Randall, who is a man of the most acute 
 feeling, and capable at times of awakening it in 
 others, long and deeply lamented their melan- 
 choly condition. His tenderest sympathies 
 were awakened, and he generously resolved to 
 open his House for their reception. He did 
 so and his well-known respect, (and indeed 
 regard,) for public character, and private opi- 
 nion, induced him to note correctly the pro- 
 ceedings of each night, which at his leisure he 
 poetized ; and now, with that timidity which is 
 the usual concomitant of Genius, he tremblingly 
 unveils them to the eye of the world. 
 
 R. BREAKWINDOW.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, page 
 
 Canto 1 3 
 
 Canto IL 17 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 fVhen in gaol I shall calm recline, 33 
 
 'Tis the last glass of claret 35 
 
 Oh ! Tommy, wilt thou gang with me? 37 
 
 Lines on the Fight between Randall and Turner. ... 40 
 
 Randall's Farewell to tfie Pugilistic Ring 44 
 
 Familiar Epistle to Mr. Randall 46 
 
 To Caleb Baldwin, Esq 49 
 
 To Mr. Martin the Baker, on his Victory over the Scientific 
 
 Cabbage 51 
 
 To Mr. Painter, on his late Pugilistic Combat tmth tlu 
 
 renoumed Tom Oliver 53 
 
 Lines written on a Pane <^ Glass at the Hole in the Wall . 5G 
 Randall ; a Fragment : with Notes. By the late Richard 
 
 Ranger, Esq 60 
 
 Moulsey 73
 
 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY. 
 
 CANTO I.
 
 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 'TwAS ten o'clock, and sounds of cattle 
 Were heard, for Tom Trot's bran new Rattle*, 
 From Tothill Fields, came trotting down. 
 
 Flinging the gutters in the air. 
 Alarming all the peaceful Town, 
 
 And making all the Natives stare. 
 
 * Carriage.
 
 4 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 And with him came Jack Randall tight, 
 
 The^filfifing^ toutirig, scuulin Blaic, 
 Who never yet hath shewn in fight 
 
 The snow-white Feather's damning shade*. 
 They soon alighted, then came in, 
 
 And, after having took a fill 
 Of Strip-me'tiaked, or of gin. 
 
 Or prime blue ruin, which you willf, 
 Tom took the Chair, ^nd sent out Jack, 
 To whistle in a hopeful Pack 
 Of Genius's, who stood withont : 
 
 But when they aw Tom in the Chair, 
 They sent forth suql^ a deaPning shout. 
 
 As made the MaMer Genius stare. 
 
 * To shew the white feather, h to prove himself a cowaid . 
 t Various names given by the modem Greeks to gin.
 
 , ' CANTO I. 
 
 Says Tom, " My Kids, I 'm glad to see 
 
 We 're such a numerous Family; 
 
 And, as 'tis fit without taore boasting, 
 
 That soon we should commence our toasting, 
 
 I '11 fill my Cup with ' liquid flame,' 
 
 And let each Kiddy do the same. 
 
 And now, my Swells, we '11 swipe success* 
 
 To that which makes us laurels win- 
 To that great comfort 'mid distress, 
 
 That sparkling fluid, Deady's Gin." 
 Jack Randall then impatient rose. 
 
 And said, " Tom's speech were just as fine. 
 If he would call that^r of Go's 
 
 By that genteeter name White Winef. 
 
 * To sivipe, is to drink. 
 
 t Tlie usual name given to this exhilarating cordial, in the 
 upper circles.
 
 6 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 And blow me tight (says Jack) if I - 
 
 Can keep my mauleys* straight or steady, 
 
 Until I 've seen a quartern dry. 
 And sluic'd my chatterers f in the Deady.* 
 
 Trot, somewhat snuffy X, " begg'd to say. 
 
 He 'd shew that start the proper air 
 A Cove should put on for the day 
 
 He fills some great and public Chair; 
 So civilly begg'd, that he no more 
 
 Might be corrected here by Jack, 
 Or else (and here he loudly swore) 
 
 The Nonpareil should shew his back^" 
 
 His hands. 
 
 t It literally means riuced his mouth ; it is rather too 
 metaphorical. 
 i Tipsey. Leave the room.
 
 CANTO I.- '-^ ^i - I- 
 
 Bill Gibbons rose, and said, " As how. 
 
 That he for one should recommend 
 Tom would not here kick up a row. 
 
 Or spit his jaw out*, at his Friend : 
 For if he did it, blow him tight. 
 
 By Belcher' s^t, and Living Jingo, 
 He 'd cut the party, (honour bright,) 
 
 Before he 'd stowf such saucy Lingo." 
 
 Dick Welborn the CorinthianX, then, 
 Tliat mighty dabster at his Pen, 
 Whom Nature, when she made a dash. 
 And thought to shew the Coves her power. 
 
 Vent his ill temper. t Put up with. 
 
 t Corinthian signifies a gentleman, or a very dashing 
 fellow ; a chap that wears a frock coat, or white corded 
 small clothes and top boots.
 
 9 JACK RANDALL'* DIARY, 
 
 Made Dick; for be can gob-out FUi^^ 
 
 And swig blue ruin by the hour*; . / 
 Rose speedily, and " hop'd to twig 
 
 A little what; was qall'd attention. 
 And swore that blow his Sister's wig, 
 
 Tom Trot was free from reprehension. 
 (And said,) I 'U tell ye what, my Lads, 
 If we were donkeyt, mules, or prads\. 
 The Kids with which this room is cramm'd, 
 
 Might hope in time; to mount and ride us; 
 But if they do it, I'U be d- d. 
 
 While we \e got fists and gin beside us. 
 
 * Talk Flasli and drink gin; where Dick acquired these 
 accomplishments, we are at a loss to guess. 
 
 t Horses.
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Tom took the Cbair^ I thought it civil, 
 
 And he was eall'd to it quite fair> 
 And tell me. Coves, aow who the D 1 
 
 Would be blow^d up, or bother'd there ? 
 Tom had not half a quartern pour'd, 
 
 Before Jack Randall we could see, 
 \{\^ jawing tackle had on board*. 
 Which soon he tippM the Company. 
 Now if Trot's speeches we 're to miss. 
 To stomach such a rig as this. 
 Although Bill Gibbons he may tear. 
 
 Just like a cat against the wind. 
 And like such conduct; I can't bear 
 
 To see it, till my day-light's blind f." 
 
 * A piece of sea slang. 
 t Till he is blind dr/nfc intoxicated, &c.
 
 10 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 The CoTM just here, began to cheer him. 
 
 And Flaherty cried out " Hear him ! hear him I" 
 
 Which being seen by some, they gave 
 
 To Dick the gaily circling cup. 
 To dip his beak deep in the wave. 
 
 While Paddy Flaherty started up. 
 His castor*, Flaherty 'gan to doff. 
 And, after having toss'd clean off 
 A tumbler full of Strip-me-naked, 
 
 To give his nerves the proper tone. 
 He rose, and from his brain-box raked 
 
 An eloquence oh ! quite his own. 
 
 " Gemmen, (says he,) You all well know. 
 The joy there is whene'er we meet, 
 
 His hat.
 
 CANTO I. H 
 
 It 's what I call the primest Go*, 
 
 And, rightly namM, 'tis ' quite a treat.' 
 
 But if you fall a squabbling thus, , i' 
 
 I fear me every Cove will rue it, 
 
 You 've kick'd up such a dev'lish fuss, 
 Hell *s quite a summer-house unto it." 
 
 'Twas clear to see this piece of wit . . 
 
 Of Paddy Flaherty's was a hit. 
 
 For grins, and smiles, and all the cousins 
 
 Of laughs, came in each face by dozens : 
 
 They begg'd him to go on ; but he. 
 
 Although he lik'd the company. 
 
 Was Irish to the very letter. 
 
 And lik'd the Strip -me-naked better. 
 
 * The finest thing possible.
 
 IS JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 He grumbled down, and said, " So bad 
 The Speeches were, it was quite taxwork 
 
 To hear them," when got up a Lad, 
 
 Whose face look'd dev'lishly Wkc wax- work ^ 
 
 And said, " If e'er they were beholden 
 
 Unto a Cove, that it was now. 
 For Paddy in a second told them. 
 
 That all they did was make a Row." 
 
 Just here there was a deaf'ning clamour. 
 When Tom drew forth his wooden hammer. 
 With which, as loud as he was able. 
 He silence knock'd upon the Table ; 
 But silence would have come as soon. 
 Had Tom just ask'd it of the Moon.
 
 CANTO I. IJ 
 
 He threw the hammer down in scorn ; 
 And, as the first faint rays of Morn 
 Were through the casements steahng in, 
 
 And at the keyhole of the door. 
 And brightning all the upset gin. 
 
 That lay in eddies on the floor ; 
 Tom Trot, at the approach of day. 
 Thought it most wise to steal away. 
 And with him went the choicest sprites. 
 
 That kept the Flash and Fun alive; 
 Kids, who had prov'd in Attic nights. 
 
 The primest bees in Randall's hive. 
 
 END OF THE FIltST CANTO.
 
 ^
 
 CANTO II.
 
 "W^
 
 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Who has e'er been at Randall's at day-break ? and 
 seen 
 
 The first gleam of light from the East stealing in. 
 
 And bright'ning the white chalks that on the Tap- 
 door, 
 
 Mrs. Randall has scored ; and the pipes on the floor, 
 c
 
 X 
 
 18 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 That, broken and crack'd, have fell from the hands 
 Of the Coves who love light-twist*, at evening to 
 cheer *em ? 
 Who love theta when sleeping, for stretch'd on the 
 sand. 
 Are the Coves rather cut\, in somnabulence near 
 'em. 
 
 Who has e'er been at Randall's, when twilight has lent 
 Inexpressible charms to this lush-crib, and sent 
 All those who were Swipers, yet hated the day. 
 To witness the spot where their feet lov'd to stray ? 
 When the light that is streaming from newly-lit Gas, 
 Sheds its ray on the tap tables, benches, and panes, 
 
 * Tobacco. t Tipsey.
 
 CANTO n. 10 
 
 And illiunes the light-wet, that now shines in each 
 glass 
 Of the Soakers that sit in sweet Chancery Lane. 
 
 This night, just at nine, the Kids 'gan to drop-in. 
 But seem'd undetermin'd for going cw stopping ; 
 Which I thought unhandsome,- for most of them 
 knew 
 
 I 'd got all on purpose for them, clean and ready, 
 A bran-ntyf fresh cargo of Prime-wet'tne-through ; 
 
 (A name Trot thought genteeler for gw* than the 
 Deady ;) 
 And I long'd just as much as a beau at a ball. 
 
 To shew off is puimc styU, or a wit with his fan-
 
 20 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 And 'twas my intention, when the Chair gave a call 
 For blue ruin, to set this " right sort of stuff" 
 running. 
 
 That Wiggins was punctual, oh ! none of us durst 
 For an instant dispute he was one of the first 
 Thatpegg'd up his castor*; for every one knows, 
 If there 's one that admires the primest of Go's, 
 Much more than another of all the prime men, 
 That for guttling it, meet, each night at our Kent 
 'Tis Wiggins, who's up-to (or may I be undone,) 
 Each Gin shop the highest and lowest in London. 
 
 Wiggins, who long'd to taste the tap, 
 Indulg'd himself in swagg'ring speeches, 
 
 * Hung up his hat.
 
 J 
 
 CANTO II. 21.' 
 
 Nor ceas'd, e'en when that Kiddy chap, 
 Tom Trot, in his white-corded breeches, 
 
 And new top-boots, came stalking in, 
 And sung out " Jack, let 's take the shine 
 
 Out of a Go* of Deady's gin, 
 
 Genteely nam'd by Flats * White Wine' " 
 
 Now Wiggins seeing Trot forgot. 
 
 Or either was too proud to do it. 
 To make apology on the spot. 
 
 For being thus behind his time. 
 Which every one who reads must feel. 
 
 Whether 'tis told in prose or rhyme. 
 Is conduct highly ungenteel. 
 
 * A measure well known by the frequenters of lush-cribs, 
 whether swiggers of gin, or any other exhiliratlng cordial.
 
 as JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 Resolved the Chairman now should rue it; 
 Or try what lots of brass the Lad, 
 From ever-bounteous Nature had. 
 
 To raise a row, and then get through it. 
 
 And thus, without more slum*, began, 
 '* I think, my tight-ones, we're a set 
 Of pretty Blades as ever met. 
 
 Over some flowing Pot-house can. 
 To settle, without botheration, 
 The rigs of this here tip-top nation. 
 Now, if a Chairman happen'd once 
 
 To disappoint, without much doubt. 
 They 'd mill the Cove, or crack his sconce. 
 
 And then, by Goles, they M kick him out. 
 
 Bother,
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 So why should we waste time in chatter^ 
 In canvassing such flimsy matter ? 
 If this Corinthian were the Sun, 
 
 And we could not well do without him. 
 Why then, 'for certes' I for one. 
 
 Should be the last to jeer and flout him ; 
 But, oh ! no sun is he whose beam 
 Of wit illumes life's muddy stream; 
 The pithy term that from me flew. 
 Was, like the Horse Guards* clock, most true ; 
 Corinthian, he is, as dull, and solemn. 
 As any old Corinthian column ; 
 Or column in the Tory papers. 
 By C nn g wrote, when in the vapours. 
 
 Wiggins having done, Tom Trot 
 Took his new castor from his head.
 
 24 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 And said, that " He, for one, had got 
 
 Amus'd by what the Gemman said : 
 He would not say, 'twas wit, or sense, 
 But this he knew, 'twas eloquence, 
 Of just the order Wiggins nourishes. 
 So frothy, and so fine in fiourishes ; 
 So fill'd with twists, and mazy curls. 
 
 To make us well-bred Natives stare. 
 Such light and shade, and zig-zag twirls, 
 That all who heard him must declare. 
 In flourishing, him first of men*, 
 Whether he hath, or not, the pen ; 
 
 This Wiggins undoubtedly is, indeed he has been 
 allowed to be, the best flourisher of ancient or modern time, 
 by kiddies, whose judgments may, in this affair, be relied 
 upon.
 
 CANTO II. 25 
 
 And grant him in a thing so rare, 
 The first of all Top Sawyers* there." 
 
 He stopp'd, but would have spoke again, 
 
 But Randall, with as swift a pace. 
 As summer lightning follows rain. 
 
 Came in to tell a doleful case ; 
 And the first words the Buffer said. 
 Were, " By the living Jingo, Ned, 
 A thing has chanc'd which is undoing; 
 
 As I op'd wide the cellar door. 
 By Crib ! I saw my prime blue ruin 
 
 Running like//i about the floor ; 
 
 * A top sawyer, signifies a man that is a master genius in 
 any profession. It is a piece of Norfolk slung, and took its 
 rise from Norfolk being a great timber county, where the 
 top sawyers get double the wages of those beneath them.
 
 16 JACK RANDAIX's DIARY, 
 
 And so by all that * prime and tight. 
 No gin, my Lads, you *ll get to-night." 
 
 The Chair was going, this doughty Nobber, 
 To call a cut-purse, thief, and robber, 
 A fellow, who was fit at most. 
 To scrag*, or nap the winding postf. 
 But Wiggins, that good-hearted fellow. 
 Who wish'd to make again all mellow. 
 Rose up, and said, " The loss of gin. 
 
 Was doubtless great ; but by the taper. 
 That DavyX held as he came in. 
 
 He stoop'd, and pick'd up this small paper ; 
 
 * To hang. t To be transported. 
 
 t Randall's man.
 
 CANTO n. T 
 
 And from what little he could see, 
 
 ^Twas Wit, or Flash, or Poetry. 
 
 And though they lost their gin that night, 
 
 'Twas clear that here was something founds 
 And therefore begg'd the smiles so bright, 
 
 Might still be seen careering round." 
 A cry was here of " Read read read," 
 And Wiggins, being kind " in deed 
 As well as word," first blew his nose, 
 
 And then in that sweet strain began. 
 So often heard with joy by those, 
 
 Who know this highly-gifted man.
 
 28 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY, 
 
 " To THOMAS TROT, Esq." 
 
 " Sweet Trot, had I a diamond pin, 
 
 I'd seek the Coal Hole's* deepest glass. 
 Which you so oft with Deadys gin, 
 
 Fill high, and then exulting pass; 
 And on its face with this same pen, 
 
 1 'd tell each porter-quaffing lout, 
 Tom Trot, the primest first of men. 
 
 Chose death with gin, to life without. 
 
 * Oh, say, doth Wit, or Genius lie 
 In Randall's*, or in Higman's* Cell ? 
 
 * Three well-known public houses.
 
 CANTO II. 29 
 
 Or, doth young Pleasure's balmy sigh, 
 
 Capricious, scorn elsewhere to dwell ? 
 'Tis true that Fancy often there, 
 Is seen on every Windsor chair ; 
 But Wit and Genius scorn to meet 
 In such a raffish, low retreat. 
 
 " Can nothing wake thee from the dream? 
 Or, art thou sunk in Pleasure's stream 
 So deep, that every keen shaft glides. 
 Like sunbeams o'er the smiling tides ? 
 If so, farewell ! Wit's diamond pen 
 
 Shall tell the world, from lord to lout, 
 Tom Trot, the primest first of men. 
 Chose death with gin, to life without."
 
 3 JACK RANDALL'S DIARY. 
 
 The Kids were pleased at this mm skit. 
 
 And Tom declared it was a hit. 
 
 So neatly wrapp'd in rhyme and wit, 
 
 That if he knew the author, he 
 
 Would civilly beg his company 
 
 At Randall's, where he 'd find him ready 
 
 To treat him with a pint o[ Deady. 
 
 The Coves at this prime liberal speech, 
 Thus spoken by the first of men. 
 
 Sent forth a loud applauding screech. 
 And each then left the Randall's Ken. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND CANTO.
 
 My Friend, Mr. Randall, fearing that he might 
 bore too heavily, declines punishing the reader 
 with any more of his Diary, until he sees whether 
 the Lads of the Fambles fancy him. Should they 
 be tasteless enough not to vote him a Trump, he 
 fears this will be both his first, and last Poetic at- 
 tempt. It may appear affectation in one so intimate 
 with Mr. R. as myself, to come piping in with my 
 lamentations; but justice to Genius obliges me to 
 say, that should this unhappy occurrence take 
 place, tH)ne will lament Mr. Randall's tippir^ his 
 rags a gallop from the Poetic ring, more deeply, 
 and more sincerely, than 
 
 ROBERT BREAKWINDOW.
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Hope, which may be significantly termed the 
 Bottle-holder o{ ihe mind, still whispers me that my 
 Friend is once more putting in his claim to be con- 
 sidered as an accomplished Fibber, and that his 
 declaration of " cutting his stick," is all a Flam. 
 
 Mr. Breakwindow now takes the liberty of sub- 
 mitting to the Public Eye, what he denominates, 
 HIS Minor Poems. He commences with Three 
 Parodies, as being of more general interest than 
 those that follow, which the Reader will perceive 
 were written on the passing occurrences of the 
 day.
 
 MINOR POEMS. SS 
 
 AIR," The Legacy." 
 
 When in gaori shall calm recline. 
 
 Bear my best coat to some Pawnbroker near; 
 Shew him how stylish the gilt buttons shine. 
 
 And ask him a price that is not too dear. 
 Bid him not search for Bank Notes in the pocket. 
 
 For they were lugg'd out to discharge an old debt ; 
 And all that he '11 find will be an old locket 
 
 Of Sal's, which she gave me the last time we met. 
 
 When the use of each gin can is o'er. 
 Sack them, and take them over the way. 
 
 For I know the Cove, and he '11 lend you more 
 Than any Flat can afford to pay;
 
 U MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Bid him not turn *em up for the rincing. 
 That oftentimes lies at the bottom so dim, 
 
 But tell him, my old one, without any mincing, 
 You tnopp'd them out* ere you brought them to him. 
 
 Take then this glass, which the gaol-bird is twining. 
 With bright^fiwAj/ flowers, which spring for him 
 
 yet. 
 
 And think how oft in it we Ve seen the gin shining. 
 And bath'd our ripe lips in the Deady's light wet. 
 
 And wonder not, if in some inspired minute 
 As intently you gaze on this cup o'er, and o'er, 
 
 A Go of blue ruin should start up within it. 
 The inside of your white neck to wet once more. 
 
 * Drank p the remainder.
 
 MINOR POEMS. tS 
 
 AIR," The Last Rose of Summer." 
 'Tis the last glass of Claret 
 
 Left sparkling alone. 
 All its rosy companions 
 
 Are clean'd out and gone ; 
 No wine of her kindred. 
 
 No Red Port is nigh. 
 To rival her blushes. 
 
 Or gladden my eye. 
 
 I '11 not leave thee, thou lone one. 
 
 This desert* to crown. 
 As the bowls are all empty, ' - 
 
 Thou too shalt go down. 
 
 * Mr, Breakwindow here, we suspect, aims at a pun. 
 
 Note by the Publishers.
 
 36 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Thus kindly I drink up 
 Each drop of pure red. 
 
 And fling the bright goblet 
 Clean over my head. 
 
 So soon may Dame Fortune 
 
 Fling me o'er her head. 
 When I quit brimming glasses, 
 
 And toddle to bed. 
 When Champaigne is exhausted, 
 
 And Burgundy 's gone. 
 Who would leave even Claret 
 
 To perish alone !
 
 MINOR POEMS. sr 
 
 AIR," Oh Nanny." 
 
 Oh ! Tommy, wilt thou gang with me. 
 
 Nor sigh to quit a rural sky. 
 Can new frock coats have charms for thee. 
 
 Or prime top-boots dehght thine eye ? 
 No longer dress'd in hobnail shoes, 
 
 Can'st thou resign the vulgar croud, 
 Can'st thou their, sports and pastimes, lose. 
 
 Where thou wert loudest of the loud ? 
 
 Oh } Tommy, when at Randall's crib. 
 
 Wilt thou not cast a wish behind. 
 Wilt thou not mourn the rustic bib*. 
 
 Which for my sake thou hast resign'd ? 
 
 A Smock Frock.
 
 8 MINOR POEMK 
 
 Can neat light oaths, or ivhijs of smoke. 
 Atone to thee for that choice croud, 
 
 In which you told the worn-out joke, 
 And laugh'd the loudest of the loud ? 
 
 Oh ! Tommy, can'st thou long to meet 
 
 With squeezings, such as, o'er and o'er. 
 They taste who seek to get a seat. 
 
 By ling'ring at the gallery door ? 
 Say, should the money-taker bawl 
 
 " No room," will it thy sunshine cloud,- 
 Will mem'ry those choice scenes recal. 
 
 Where thou wert loudest of the loud ? 
 
 And when at last in gaol you lie. 
 And breathe St. George's balmy air.
 
 MINOR POEMS. 39 
 
 Wilt thou repress each rising sigh. 
 
 And think thyself the primest there ? 
 And wilt thou thy last six-pence view, 
 
 Turn'd out to treat some vagrant croud, 
 Nor wish again those hours that flew, 
 
 Where thou wert loudest of the loud ?
 
 40 
 
 ON THE FIGHT BETWEEN 
 RANDALL AND TURNER. 
 
 All hail to the Cove, see his doxies have crown'd him. 
 With gin-dripping shamrocks just pluck'd from 
 the plain. 
 See the Captain*, and Caleb*, are chuckling around 
 him. 
 As he offers to scuttle a nob o'er again. 
 Ah ! Erin, be proud of the boy you have got. 
 And toast his sweet name in the water oflifef; 
 
 * Captain Barclay and Caleb Baldwin, trainers and betters 
 on Randall. 
 
 t Gin.
 
 MINOR POEMS. 41 
 
 Drink joy to his douhle-ups, strength to his shot*, 
 And a laurel each time he embarks in the strife. 
 
 Oh the leak that beam'd gaily on Turner's clear brow, 
 
 . Glitters still in the wind both purely and bright. 
 
 Though the fast springing buds are close clipp'd 
 
 round it now. 
 
 Yet the leak is but robbed of the glare of its light. 
 
 Say, thou Shakspeare of Fancy men, who could resist 
 
 The Fibber, the Tauter, the tight Bit of Stuff , 
 The man who knew head-tvork, and whose mutton fist 
 Could have tipp'd e'en a young rampant bullock 
 enough. 
 
 * A peculiar blow that Randall has the power of giving, and 
 denominated among the Fancy, " Randall's shot."
 
 4a MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Let feather-bed whelps, without any discerDing, 
 
 In fashion's gay rounds pass the best of their days; 
 Let students and poets, in bowers of learning, 
 
 Drawl out their existence, and sing their soft lays :' 
 Be ours the wild pleasure, be ours the bright hopes. 
 
 Which e'en when devoid of our day-lights we see. 
 The chance but o{ flinging our man on the ropes. 
 
 Or. of boring a customer down on the knee. 
 
 We 're just like the flowers that bloom in that clime. 
 Where all sorts of sun-shining sweet-meats are 
 eaten, 
 Blushing on, blooming on, through the whole sum- 
 mer time. 
 And whose value 's not known till most soundly 
 they 're beaten.
 
 MINOR POEMS. 43 
 
 'Tis then that their soft rosy fragrancy glows, 
 And expands with delight as their strength dies 
 away. 
 
 And we, when the claret bright, torrent-like, flows. 
 Prove our worth by our nohs being board-like and 
 
 gay-
 
 44 
 
 iSanball'ii f ateiiien 
 
 PUGILISTIC RING. 
 
 Farewell to the ring, where my claret' stain' d glory 
 ' Arose and obscured the prime dons with my fame, 
 I abandon her now, but, Boxiana, thy story 
 
 Shall render quite fadeless the Nonpareil's name. 
 Oh, sad is the heart that can say " the deuce take 
 her," 
 To Fame, when she 's backing a blade of the fist ; 
 But Turner I 've cleared out; and Martin the Baker, 
 I'd very near put on the Bankruptcy list.
 
 MINOR POEMS. 45 
 
 Then blame rae not, Kids^ SwellSf or Lads of the 
 Fancy, 
 
 For opening a lush-crib* in Chancery LanCf 
 An appropriate spot 'tis, you doubtless all can see. 
 
 Since heads I have plac'd there and let out again. 
 Farewell then, thou ring, whence I first drew my glory. 
 
 Farewell to Bill Gibbons, Tom Owenf farewell. 
 And when to Greenhorns you 're telling some tight 
 milling story, 
 
 Then think on Jack Randall, the prime Nonpareil. 
 
 * A Public House. 
 
 t Two of his bottleholders and supporters.
 
 4fi, MIIiJQR PQEMSf; 
 
 \A 
 
 Mr. Randall's loss, (like Miss O'Neil's retire- 
 ment,) was 8o deeply felt, that> at thei deisire of seve- 
 ral Gentlemen of the Fancy y I addressed the following 
 short Familiar Epistle to him, Superscription, 
 "Hole. in the Wall^ Chancery Lane." 
 
 Prythee, sprightly Randall, say> 
 
 Now the gloves you 've thrown away, 
 
 Feel you more at ease, than when 
 
 You broke the heads and ribs of men ? 
 
 Or, grows your hand more firm and steady. 
 
 In handing out the cheering Deadyf 
 
 Once, you were the chief delight 
 Of those who lov'd a bit of Fight,
 
 MINOR POEMS. 4f 
 
 And sought by that conglommeration*, 
 To keep alive the milling nati&n ; 
 And though, my Randall, you are cheerful. 
 Yet all iht fibbing Blades are tearful. 
 
 For, since you 've cut the ifrfy thing, 
 
 And cut the Gemmen of the ring. 
 
 They clearly see, beyond all doubt. 
 
 The milling candles all snufF'd out, 
 
 And to their sorrow find, my tight one. 
 
 That you, though last, was still the bright one. 
 
 * A word made use of by Mr. Randall at his examination 
 at Bow Street, a short time since : being asked by the Magis- 
 trate if he knew any thing of the tumultuous affair then 
 before them, he replied " Oh, yes, a conglommeration of tailors 
 had assembled in Battersea Fields to fight," &c. &c.
 
 48 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 So me, my Nonpareil, they Ve got. 
 
 To shuffle up a pretty lot 
 
 Of sweet respects, in proper tense 
 
 Just suited to a man of sense. 
 
 To beg that you 'U relieve their pain. 
 
 By nobbing in the ring again.
 
 49 
 
 To CALEB BALDWIN, Esq. 
 
 Sweet Caleb ! 'neath whose genial beam, 
 So many sons of slang have sprung to life ; 
 
 And, taught by thee, have quafF'd the Deady's 
 stream. 
 At Belcher's, or at Randall's seat of strife. 
 
 How must the Muse lament, that, far away. 
 
 At Tothill Fields, or Westminster's dominions. 
 Thou shedd'st thy mild and evanescent ray, 
 Thou brightest feather in the Fancy's pinions. 
 
 E
 
 60 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Some wintry night, when with Bill Gibbons, round 
 The Randall's fire we sit in quiet state. 
 
 Oh ! may we hear thy cheerful footsteps sound. 
 And see thee toddle in with heart elate. 
 
 If so, I swear, e*en at the Fancy's shrine, 
 The primest strip-me-naked that within 
 
 The deepest quartern ever flow'd, is thine ; 
 I know that nothing tempts thy soul like gin.
 
 61 
 
 To Mr. martin THE BAKER, 
 
 THE SCIENTIFIC CABBAGK 
 
 Thou Master of the Rolls, whose potent fist 
 Has swept the garden s^m^ clean off the list; 
 Accept this tribute without jeer or gibe. 
 From one fond votary of the milling tribe. 
 Long may'st thou, 7nan of crumb, make claret flow, 
 And bury thy fist in flesh, as well as dough*. 
 Knead all the Coves as tight,-rand close. 
 As the Cabbage, who did gather 
 
 * Towards the middle of the fight, the report says, " ]Mar- 
 tin literally buried his fist m the body of Cabbage."
 
 62 MINOU POEMS. 
 
 Himself compact, to avoid the blows. 
 Like chickweed in rainy weather*. 
 
 Since Randall's mighty genius gone. 
 The ring 's scarce worth the looking on ; 
 
 Crib gets the gout. 
 
 And can't come out ; 
 And Turner 's now too fat to fight; 
 
 And Carter's slumf 
 
 No more can hum ; 
 And Donnelly 's bid the world " good night," 
 So to thee we look now, scientific Martin, 
 To shew the Coves the tricks thou 'rt smart in. 
 
 * Chickweedf it is well known, possesses this barometer-like 
 qnality. 
 
 t Stum Anglice, gammon. The attractions of this self- 
 elected champion have pretty well expired.
 
 53 
 
 o 3r?r* fainter, 
 
 On his late Pugilistic Combat with the renowned 
 TOM OLIVER. 
 
 Oh, Painter! thou Artist, whom dame Nature owns, 
 For painting the life, the flesh, and the bones, 
 In colours cerulean, whose bright-tinted hue 
 Could be drawn out, my old one, by no one but you. 
 Rejoice in your laurels, and swig the full cup; 
 Let your old heart with triumph, and joy be 
 elate. 
 For in milling tough Tom, and sewing him up. 
 You 've prov'd your executive powers most great.
 
 54 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Thou Raphael of fancy ! yonv fist was the brush, 
 And Tom's head was the palate, where many a blush 
 Of the crimson was drawn ; but the blue and the 
 
 black, 
 You contriv'd to extract from his chest and his 
 back. 
 Your powers of handling we saw in a trice. 
 
 When your bunch of five* tickled his munSf and 
 then ribb'd him ; 
 And your genius for keeping, for just like a vice. 
 You held the old boy while you facer'd and 
 Jibb'd him. 
 
 * The milling hand is often figuratively termed " the 
 bunch of five,"
 
 MINOR POEMS. 65 
 
 Oh ! when Sir Thomas, by that Miller Time, 
 Is ient full trot to that deHcjous clime. 
 Where Rubens dwells, and Titian takes the air. 
 Thou Painter, fit for such a station rare, 
 Come up to town, and stand for the Professor's 
 Chair.
 
 56 
 
 %int0 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS 
 
 " Hole in the Wall." 
 
 Oh ! would ye know the poet's home. 
 
 Or where my soul delights to stray ? 
 'Tis where the choicest spirits roam 
 
 'Tis where wit's brightest light'nings play. 
 Oh ! Randall's is the blessed spot. 
 
 So fara'd for tales of fun and slaughter. 
 And there 'twill be Bob's happy lot. 
 
 To drink sweet poison rum and water.
 
 MINOR POEMS. ST 
 
 I 'd sooner sit in Randairs tap. 
 
 With Wiggins, and Dick Welborn round, 
 And bashful Flaherty, that sweet chap. 
 
 Whose voice none ever heard the sound. 
 Than enter the genteelest door. 
 
 E'er own'd by duke or lord in power ; 
 Where frothy compliments, like poor 
 
 Pad nags, are let out by the hour. 
 
 In future times, when we are gone. 
 And Trot beneath some stone is laid. 
 
 And Welborn's earthly race is run. 
 
 And I, poor wretch ! am in the shade : 
 
 I mean that time when we are dead, 
 
 And worms have, in some luckless minute.
 
 W MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Commenc'd a search on Flaherty's head. 
 As if to find some brains within it : 
 
 Some wight shall call up many stares. 
 
 From some/r/i kid with bran new hat on. 
 By shewing for some blunt, the chairs 
 
 On which we all so oft have sat on. 
 And he shall say," Here oft was seen 
 
 Tom Trot, with ruin in his dandle*,- 
 And Wiggins oft in this has heen, 
 
 And in this elbow sat Js^ck Randall." 
 
 " Poor Lads ! they lov'd the pure light wet, 
 Nor were they of a row afraid ; 
 
 With a glass of gin in his hand.
 
 MINOR POEMS. 69 
 
 Poor Lads ! they 've paid the general debt, 
 
 The only debt each ever paid. 
 Yet let no creditor in ire, 
 
 Make some rash unrelenting vow ; 
 For all the kit were lads oifire. 
 And if they *ve luck they are so now.''
 
 60 
 
 A fragment: WITH NOTliS. 
 
 BY THE LATE RICHARD RANGER, ESQ. 
 
 Immortal Randall ! Thou whose fadeless name 
 Stands like a sun-burst on the scroll of Fame, 
 Inspire the Muse, who seeks in votive lays. 
 To sing thy god-like deeds, and hymn thy praise. 
 
 The Muse is right, who hath auspicious popt 
 Upon thy birth, and says that thou wert dropt 
 In that most sacred spot in all our Isles, 
 That 's 'neath the patronage of great St. Giles : 
 There, in some cellar, didst thou, chief of men ! 
 First breathe the air, but if thou didst what then ?
 
 RANDALL. fll 
 
 The Ajacian* Wanderer, whom Fate so kind. 
 Permitted long to ruffian all mankind. 
 First saw the light within some secret cell. 
 Where none but shoe-blacks were allowed to dwell ; 
 Gazed on the scene his soul disdained to own. 
 And fleetly strode from soot-bags to a throne. 
 That mighty Popef , whose iron-fisted sway, 
 Rome trembling own'd, and own'd but to obey ; 
 Who in the Capitol run so many rigs. 
 Once fed his appetite by feeding pigs. 
 
 But luckless they in obscuration hurl'd. 
 Compared with thee who lit-up half the world. 
 Or half the world's first city just the same. 
 When quite a boy, and fearless seeking fame. 
 
 Napoleon Buonaparte. t Sixtus the Fifth.
 
 6t RANDALL. 
 
 Oft have we seen him at the twilight hour, 
 Start mid a hail-storm-, and defy its power ; 
 With ladder pois'd on left arm> torch on right. 
 Swift through the lanes he wings his eagle flight. 
 Touches each wick all make the kind return. 
 And countless lamps, inspired by Randall, burn. 
 
 Such was his toil, when one night coming home. 
 Some swell uncivil, who 'd been out to roam 
 In search of lark, or some delicious gig 
 The mind delights iri'^Sliiien ^tis in prime twig, 
 Some precious piece of laughter-loving/n, 
 The soul can look on calmly when 'tis done. 
 And to itself In bitter moments say, 
 " Think on the kiddyish spree vie had on such a 
 day .1"
 
 RANDALL. 6S 
 
 This swell, however, vfhose Jlash name Was Bob, 
 Brush' d against Jack, and hit him on the riob ; 
 When Jack, impetuous, flung his link in air, 
 And swore an oath that made the natives stare ; 
 Then peel'd, and said, " The Coves shall find, 'od- 
 
 rott'em ! 
 That if not science, I at least am bottom." 
 
 Swift at Bob's snotty-box, his white fist flew. 
 And soon a shower of the claret hue, 
 Tapp'd by Jack's mauleys, from Bob's smellers burst. 
 When down he dropp'd, and ended "round the 
 first," 
 
 Yet why, oh Muse ! recount the hard-fought fray. 
 
 Or tell the hits ? It is enough to say. 
 
 Jack iipp'd the Cove enough, and brush' d away 

 
 64 RANDALL. 
 
 Yet as he passM where Seven-Dials* greets 
 The passers-by, with its delicious sweets. 
 Where ^'ac^j^'s drank until the senses reel, 
 Where Beauty '% basJ\ful, and where Wit 's genteel; 
 Thus to himself immortal Randall said 
 
 " This^sf, this nob, were sure for milling made; 
 *' And when I think on all the swells that I 
 " Have doubled up, and settled clean, I sigh, 
 " To think that I, who am the Fancy's pinky 
 " Should carry (death and fire !) a filthy link ! 
 " A ladder too, forsooth ! this arm must bear, 
 " That sent Young Snuffy f to the Lord knows 
 " where ! 
 
 We protest for this being a noun singular. 
 
 t Tliis Chick used to amuse his " leisure hours" in selling 
 dog's meat, and was the terror of all neighbouring butcher 
 boys, until he had the shine milled out of him, by the Non- 
 pareil.
 
 RANDALL. 66 
 
 " This rig Vllcut; ^'tis Friday ; and to-morrow, 
 " Come weal or woe, by Crib ! come joy or sorrow, 
 " When old Jack Wiggins counts for me my score, 
 " Pll bid him post the blunt for me no more : 
 " For me no more shall hogs or Simons'* ring, 
 " While the delighted lug is listening. 
 
 " God of the Fancy ! now receive my vows, 
 " And grant a laurel to thy Randall's brows : 
 " In thund'ring^oorers let me shine sublime, 
 " In nobbers famed ; and, when the cry of * Time* 
 " Strikes on my ear, oh, ever, ever ready, 
 '* Let Jack be found, with fambles straight, and 
 '* steady," 
 
 * This allusion of Mr. Ranger's to the vulgar method of 
 trying shillings and sixpences, is highly characteristic.
 
 66 RANDALL. 
 
 Thus pray'd the Randall, while he bent his way 
 Towards Fives-Gourts, where many ajlash display 
 Was wond'ring seen, until that doughty Ribber 
 Burst on them, an electrifying Fibber*. 
 
 Jack soon was match'd with a prime milling blade, 
 Whose laurels fleet, he placed in endless shade. 
 And carcase nearly trundled to old Nick 
 For soon all dicky 'twas with Western Dick\. 
 
 Holt next came forth, but soon was found at fault ; 
 For quickly Holt sung out to Jack to halt: 
 
 * Jack astonished even his most sanguine admirers in 
 changing from l^t to right, and vice versa, using both hands 
 with equal facility, and dropping his man in style. 
 
 t West country Dick, whom he made in half an liour a 
 spectacle.
 
 RANDALL. 67 
 
 Then came the Turner, trained amid the gales. 
 That blow ehop-cutting, 'mid the rocks of Wales ; 
 With right-leg forth*, and fist, whose deadly blow. 
 Sent Curtisf howling to the shades below. 
 
 For one long hour did Mars, astonish'd, see 
 
 The fib, the bore, and drop upon the knee. 
 
 Ere Neddy cried, with skin no longer buff, 
 
 " I think, my milling Coves, I 've had enough ; 
 
 " And Bill and Joe, who now i\\tjacky suck, 
 
 " Can swear as how I 've shew'd the primest pluck." 
 
 * His peculiar mode of fightiug, which renders him diffi- 
 cult to be got-at ; the Nonpareil, however, got-in, and went to 
 work in style, serving an ejectment on his chatterers, &c. 
 
 t One of the garnest boxers that ever peel'd. He used to 
 declare, " he 'd fight any thing living." Turner kill'd him 
 fairly, and he was buried like a christian.
 
 ee RANDALL. 
 
 The Ring were pleased at this bold speech of Ned's, 
 And flung their greasy castors from their heads ; 
 Then, as the day-star was quick going down, 
 They wet their whistles, and returned to Town. 
 
 That start, to whom the swell* compell'd to yield, 
 And fled all drunk from the disastrous field. 
 Next offer'd Jack ; and soon in ring arrayed. 
 Jack took the shine from this hard-hitting blade, 
 Tipp'd him such thumps, that very soon, by Goles, 
 It was all up with th' Master of the Rolls-f. 
 
 * Scroggins, whom his seconds made completely drunk, 
 before the battle was half over. 
 
 t It was at this battle, between Jack Martin the Baker, 
 and the Nonpareil, that Mr. Ranger acquired that figurative 
 style of betting that his friends of the fancy have so much 
 admired ; as, " Waterloo Bridge to a deal plank ;" " Bur- 
 lington Arcade to a slop shop." &c.
 
 RANDALL. 69 
 
 The Muse has done; no more she has to sing 
 Of wonders done by Randall in the ring ; 
 
 For Randall, now intent alone on gain, 
 Hath op'd a small lush-crib in Chanc'ry Lane, 
 Where he doth vend the bright enliv'ning Deady, 
 To all who tip the blunt, or post the ready. 
 
 There shall young Bacchus see his glittering shrine, 
 Delug'd with strip -me-naked, 'stead of wine. 
 And from his gorgeous panoply look down. 
 On Randall's gin-shop with a bitter frown; 
 For wine, he loves to view his altars stain, 
 But prime blue ruin' goes against the grain. 
 
 Randall, farewell ! yet with parental care. 
 
 The Muse (half blushing) putteth forth this prayer.
 
 TO RANDALL. 
 
 Which is protective, and indeed at best, 
 A sort otcivilish, ladt/-like request. 
 
 " Shade of Jem Belcher, hover round his nob ; 
 " Protect his lugs, his chatterers, and gob : 
 " And from the realms ofjlambeau-coloured hue, 
 " Lend him thy nerves, when tipping his One-Two*. 
 " Thou, too, sweet Chicken, whom the Muse dehghts 
 " To praise, not only for thy pluck in fights. 
 
 * Tlie One-Two of Jem Belcher was given with sucli ra- 
 pidity, that it was felt and not seen. Randall's is, in a great 
 measure, the same. But there was an elegance and grace 
 about the Bristol Champion, that must ever place him befoie 
 the Nonpareil. I have, however, heard a preference given to 
 the latter, and that by good judges too ; but the shade of Jem 
 must be content, Kean has been |)referred, by many, to 
 Garrick ; and Cowley, who was cotemporary with Milton, 
 was thought a far superior poet to the author of Paradise 
 Lost.
 
 RANDALL. 
 
 " But when, amidst the crash of blazing beams, 
 " Half chok'd with smoke, and sluic' d w'xth endless 
 
 " streams, 
 " You fearless rush'd and saved a female's life, 
 " Standing undaunted 'mid the deadly strife* ; 
 
 * In November 1807, a fire broke out at Mrs. Denzil's, 
 silk mercer, in Thomas Street, Bristol ; and the flames had 
 made such rapid progress, that the servant of the house, a 
 poor girl who had retired to rest in the attic story, v^ras nearly 
 enveloped in flames before she awoke to behold her dreadful 
 situation. Frantic with despair, she presented herself at the 
 window ; her screams pierced the heart of ever\- beholder, but 
 none dared to attempt her rescue. At length Pewrce appeared 
 in the crowd, and unhesitatingly flew to her relief: by the 
 aid of an adjoining house he reached the parapet, and, hang- 
 ing over it, grasped her wrists, and, by moe strength, drew 
 her up from the window, and placed her by him on the 
 parapet, 
 
 Pearce was a native of Bristol, and was called the " Game
 
 7S RANDALL. 
 
 " Guard thou, my Randall; and each milling day, 
 *' Let the sweet Nonpareil in triumph march away/* 
 
 Chicken," from his never having been defeated. He died 
 80th April, 1809, aged about thirty>two years.
 
 MINOR POEMS, 73 
 
 ifWouWep* 
 
 On Moulsey when the moon was bright. 
 And comets wing'd their burning flight. 
 Was heard the sound of tax-cart hght. 
 
 Of J5/rfti;f rolling rapidly. 
 
 But Moulsey when the sun was high. 
 Saw clouds of dust in myriads fly j 
 For prads and rattlers rolled by 
 
 Full trot in drunken revelry. 
 
 At early dawn was heard the " sing" 
 
 Of " Clear, Baldwin, clear the Fancy's ring. 
 
 For soon Tom Crib will Randall bring. 
 
 In buggy to fight dev'lishly."
 
 74 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Then, then arose a murd'rous din ; 
 For Randall then came rattling in, 
 And, when he gain'd the ropes within. 
 
 He flung his castor vauntingly. 
 
 Then Turner rais'd a deaf'ning shout, 
 And whips wav'd high, and fists flew out, 
 For Belcher leap'd the ring without. 
 
 And peel'd the bvffers dextrously. 
 
 On, Turner, on now. Nonpareil, 
 Let every blow in thunders tell. 
 Your mawZfys do their duty \well. 
 
 And // .the fibber gloriously. 
 
 His o^/e# "now both look aslkance, /.. .;. > '.'. 
 J^is c/mWercrs all jin^ir now dance, ' 
 
 Now, Nonpareil, thine is the chance. 
 
 And thou hast won it easily-
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Smile, Moulsey, smile, the sun again 
 Shall once more blaze upon thy plain, 
 And dry each claret mantling stain 
 
 That Turner has spilt willingly. 
 
 n 
 
 The grass once more shall grow upon 
 The spot of all this slaught'ring fun. 
 Where hlunt was lost and jiimseys won, 
 
 And Deady guzzled merrily.
 
 mm 
 
 i,^^ 
 
 a./ 
 
 Printed by J. BretttU, 
 Rupert Street, Hitymarket, London.
 
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